2 Death Rejoices (72 page)

But the real answer wasn't the chained casket right in front of me, and it smacked me in the nose: a “pantheon of the dead,” Harry had said. A haunted place. A place no revenant would go. A place where the screams of tortured spirits, victims of the 1885 Castle Creek Slaughter, would drive any revenant mad. Ashcroft.

“You can't go after Spicer, because Spicer's in a place you can't approach. That's why you need us.”

“Improcerous woman—”

“Improcerous?” I said to Declan. “Lord and Lady, I hate old revenants: babbling obscure words, bossing me around, and turning nice little girls into monsters.”

“Nice little girls don't end up in my clutches,” Malas rasped, “only the naughty girls flock to me, and I delight in their company.”

I promised him, “Not for long.”

“Nothing can stand in my way. Not you. Not the paladin. Not anything.”

“Sure about that?” I jerked a thumb at his casket, where the silver crosses tinkled softly.

“Yes, woman,” he rasped. “I am sure.”

Malas’ upper lip peeled off his long single fang and in a rush, his perfect phantasm reverted to reflect his actual self, with thinning hair and withered arm and yellowed fang. A full-fledged ugly, he hissed and spat, lifting his crippled arm as his boots rose from the ground ever so slightly. I heard the sizzle-snap of kinetics and all my hair stood on end.

Well, fuck.

C
HAPTER
57

“GET DOWN!
Get down!” I shouted. I shoved Declan to the ground and dove behind the table, knocking the Taser out of his hand in the process. The candles rocked and swayed on the table, but only a couple of them fell over and went out, casting the room into deeper, swaying shadow. Golden gave a shout of alarm and de Cabrera darted in my direction.

Malas drew both arms back as if he was shedding a heavy robe and both Feds went flying into the darkened corners on either side of him. I heard bones crunch but didn't have time to wonder whose, and the indistinct moaning from that end of the room could belong to either or both of the agents.

In an instant, Malas was before me, a barely seen streak in the dimness, pulling back his withered arm, the useless hand a crippled fist. I had a shred of a moment to think,
phantasm hand, that'll go right through me
, but it wasn't his fist that hit me, it was the wave of kinetic power that rode before it. That psi-fist smacked me in the mouth, sending me backwards into the wall with a resounding thud. My impact dented the plaster and lathe and I tasted blood, and then shook my head to clear it.

Malas’ growl played havoc with my wiring, and I felt his hunger and rage shred through me like a cheese grater. A shadow that was probably Declan stepped in front of me, but Malas was faster. The revenant's good hand snapped up, and Declan slammed to a stop like he'd hit an invisible wall. The high reek of burnt sugar filled the air, coupled with a surge of anise. Malas turned on me again.

Not knowing what else to do, I shakily pulled out the crucifix from under my shirt and held it out in front of my bleeding lip, which throbbed and puffed against my teeth.

I didn't even have to warn him away verbally. Malas hissed around his fang and threw both arms in front of his face, halted by the symbol of heaven as though archangels were staring him down with divine flamethrowers. If he'd been wearing an opera cape, it would have been a perfect Dracula-shies-from-Van-Helsing moment. For a heartbeat, I felt powerful, and wondered if this was what Batten felt like when he hunted.

And then it all changed.

A blazing rush of marrow-shaking energy pulled through the space around us; it felt like heat leaching from my bones. When he released it through the air, the first-failed experiment at the table ignited in a puff of white-hot flames, a fine demonstration of the phantasm's reach into the realm of the physical.
Pyrokinetics
. His boots lifted further from the ground, churning a whirlwind of ash and clumps of singed hair in a near-blinding maelstrom, his arms rising like the wings of a huge bird. I had a bad feeling I was about to become a flaming whirl of charred flesh when Viktor Domitrovich tumbled into our space with a translocated gush of air heavy with ogre stench. He was not alone.

The second blur was impossible to follow with mortal eyes until it skidded to a full stop, Oxfords streaking the concrete floor, tweed overcoat flapping, pale hands immediately reaching to tidy his ascot, check his hair, smooth the front of his Turnbull & Asser shirt. Harry. The unexpected infusion of preternatural vigor he offered me through our Bond was a slap, but a welcome one.

Harry tossed a frown at my crucifix. “Curtail your murlimews, my wonder-wench. You must forgive
le vicomte
.” The sound of his crisp London accent made me weak with relief. “Lies and gratuitous displays of power are second nature to the ancient ones. They know no other way.”

“Dreppenstedt,” Malas said, while glaring at Viktor. “You dare come without invitation and with this mongrel at your side? Think you that this affair is any of your concern?”

“Can you doubt it?” Harry folded his pale hands loosely in front of his stomach, and if he'd had a cane, I had no doubt they'd be perched atop it, a bemused Fred Astaire about to kick ass. He cocked his head to one side, gazing down on me. When he spoke, the tips of his fangs peeked out. “The blood on my DaySitter's sweet lip tells me that perhaps I should have come sooner. Flames and ether, my Lord, even her evening attire, while no doubt inappropriate to the occasion, is looking positively miscomfrumpled.”

“Now you're in for it, Malas,” I agreed vehemently. “You miscomfrumpled my attire.”

Harry looked me up and down, shaking his head critically. “Close your mouth, gobemouche. Good heavens, whatever would your agents say? Gather yourself up and please strive to be graceful whilst you do so.”

“
My
agents? If you mean Jackass Batten and Plague-rat Chapel, they aren't here, which you already know.
These
agents are hurt, and should have an ambulance called.” I scrambled to my feet, Keds squeaking. Wiping blood from under my nose with the back of one hand, I caught Harry up on the situation.. “Malas might be Declan's dad, or maybe Prince Dreppenstedt is. It's a whole Maury Povich thing, but with dead guys. And Declan's a
dhampir
. And the
Falskaar Vouras
kidnapped baby Declan away from his mom. And that's why he was asking you all those history questions about the Dreppenstedts. Also: that phantasm can still punch really hard.”

Harry's eyes spiraled through shades of silver to pure platinum. “Is that so?” he asked. “Oh, I am sympathetic to the sad history of our bookwright, but am most troubled by the assault upon my pet.”

Harry knew
, I thought, diagnosing a distinct lack of surprise on my Cold Company's face.
He knew about Declan. Since when? And how?
“I'm probably fine,” I assured him, “but if you could intervene here on our behalf, that'd be spiffy.”

“There will be no intervention here,” Malas warned. “This is my home, and as such, my safe haven, my sanctuary. You will command your DaySitter to release me from the silver chains and crosses, you will explain to her that she must obey the wishes of our Infernal Father, and then you will leave my home.”

“You never thought to put your home in your DaySitter's name, my Lord,” Harry pointed out. “An arrogant mistake.”

The phantasm scowled its confusion.

Harry continued smoothly, “You never did trust your advocates, did you? You never could invest in a mere mortal. You always wanted your companions to be more
for
you than
with
you.” From Harry's lips, the words were a contemptuous condemnation.

“I see nothing wrong with longing for the company of my own kind.”

“Yes, you are a lonely soul, Malas, but you do not learn. Youngers always leave, once turned. This is the way of it. A DaySitter will stay if treated with kindness and shown a measure of trust. Trusting Stuart, you might have placed your wealth and property in his name. If you had, I'd not have been able to enter your sanctuary without Stuart's invitation. I do not require
your
invitation, nor do I see any reason to respect your sanctuary when you have violated the oldest and most sacrosanct rules of the immortal ones. You have bent to the temptations offered by John Spicer and betrayed your own DaySitter, Malas, a precious mortal who bent to your wishes, fed you and protected you, kept you warm and safe, and trusted you with everything that he was.” Harry's sadness made his voice a mere breath. “You have repaid him with nothing. You cast Stuart's life to the paladin for his vile experiments, as well as the life of Anne Bennett-Dixon, a young lady who also trusted your gift.”

“She was to be mine,” Malas said. “Mine.”

“How many men and women have you turned,” Harry asked. “How many souls have you welcomed to the nectar of your heart, only to betray them? How could you watch them become rotting slaves to the
bokor
?”

“It is not your place to judge me, young Dreppenstedt.”

“No, it is not.” Harry's eyes glinted with cold steel. “That will be the job of the
Falskaar Vouras
, my Lord, for if the hunter does not come to act on his warrant to stake you, the primeval ones will exact retribution as a warning to others who might be tempted to abandon their Bond and their advocate.”

“The primeval ones know better than to threaten me.”

“Prince Dreppenstedt assures me that your clutch has long been emptied; since all your Youngers have been given over to the
bokor
's Vodou, the Nazaire bloodline ends with you. You will cast no shadow on this Earth any longer. The
Falskaar Vouras
will show you no mercy.”

Out of the corner of my eye, Declan jerked somewhat guiltily and hid his face from me. I kept him in my peripheral vision as he began to move. He had recovered my modified Taser, held it in one hand. The other held a stake of hand-carved rowan. I hadn't ever seen him with one, in his bag or in his hand, and the sight was jarring. In that moment, I wasn't sure whom he wanted to use it on. When he did move, I tensed, but he crept from checking Golden's stirring form to examine de Cabrera, who was favoring his left knee.

“If there is no mercy to be had, then there is no reason I shouldn't destroy you now,” the phantasm snarled, peeling his upper lip back off his single, yellowed fang.

Harry bowed deeply, letting his coat sweep back. Cool poise tilted his smile when he straightened. “If you wish to test my full strength against the power of your phantasm, I invite you to do so. At this point, Malas, you really have nothing left to lose, and I do admit to some curiosity as to the outcome.”

“Let's just get out of here,” I advised, and tossed the Waterloo tooth shard at the cross-wrapped casket. “I don't think I'll be calling on you again.”

“If ever you did,
mademoiselle
, I do not think you would enjoy what came for you. And you, Dreppenstedt. My fate is not your concern, nor is the destiny of the little creature.”

“Creature?” Harry said, and his lips formed a sarcastic little O of surprise as he spotted Declan. “Ah, yes, the babe you stole from his mother's care. My maker's widow. My Master did tell me this sad tale.” He
tsk
ed around his fangs. “If you had any decency left, you would at the very least tell the lad his name.”

The phantasm swept backward a step and seemed to be considering this, as if he had something to gain from being nice at this point, one last trump card.

“Not only have you broken mortal law, Malas,” Harry continued, “but you have betrayed secrets of the
Falskaar Vouras
to human ears, thereby breaking the laws of our king. You have betrayed your own advocate and defiled revenant Youngers. You have stirred Prince Dreppenstedt into a right tizzy by revealing this shameful history to the
dhampir
.” Harry motioned to the chained casket. “You are in no position to deny such a small request, my Lord.”

“This one,” Malas’ shade pointed at Declan. “Will not allow you to destroy me before he has all of his answers.”

“Your son,” Harry agreed, “deserves his answers, and Prince Dreppenstedt will supply them if you will not. Earlier this evening, I was assured of this.”

Malas seemed to shrink. He said to Declan, “She called you Jean-Etienne Auguste Dufort, with no small amount of human sentimentality, after her father.”

“There you are, Dr. Edgar,” Harry said brightly, flashing fang. The tension in the room seemed to pop when he clapped once, loudly. “Time for you to go. I am quite certain you are sorely needed elsewhere.”

I took the hint, grabbed Declan's elbow tightly, and yanked. My assistant did not budge. “That's it? That's all?”

“All? You just heard truth, lad,
truth
from the mouth of an ancient revenant. You of all people should know how rare a gift that is.” Harry's grim smile held a warning. “Best be on your way while you may.” He turned his attention down on me, flashing me Chapel's cell phone.
I love you Harry
blazing from the screen in a bright green chat bubble. “At long last, you permit me the opportunity to assist you. Ah, but you never fail to ecstasiate me, my starry-eyed sparrow. I am flush with satisfaction.”

“Oh, you got that, huh?” I said.

“Never have you said such sweet words to me.”

“I knew you'd think it was bugfuck nuts.”

“Quite so. Come. Allow me to incabinate you, my little hermit, and protect you from the woes and worries of the world.”

“I've still got work to do, Harry. Batten's gone after Spicer and his monsters alone.”

Harry cut his eyes at the phantasm and I felt a quiver of concern through the Bond. “Our dreadnaught is a foolish man, indeed.”

“He's going to get himself killed,” I agreed.

“You must of course allow me to assist you—”

“No! You've done enough. I can accept your help with Malas, Harry, but I can't pit you against a human. You lift one finger to hurt Spicer, and there will be a green slip in Batten's back pocket with your name on it.” I eyeballed the ogre, who was sniffing the air in front of the phantasm curiously. “Besides, Kinship of the Departed prevents you from coming.”